


Cold, Hard Revenge

by BrightEgao



Category: Mouthfeel Harassment, Shokkan Harassment
Genre: BL, Boy x boy, Boys Love - Freeform, Completed, Cursed content, Eating out, Erotic, Erotica, Food, Japanese, M/M, Mouthfeel, Office Setting, Revenge, Romance, Shokkan, Strange fetish, Yaoi, based on a manga, harrassment, mouth - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:41:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25164835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrightEgao/pseuds/BrightEgao
Summary: After discovering that his boss, Mita, has a strange sexual fetish of seeing people eat, Yajima catches feelings of affection towards him. However, when the feelings aren’t requited (rudely), the desire for revenge takes over Yajima’s mind, heart, and stomach. Will Yajima succeed, or will he have a change of heart?
Relationships: Yajima x Mita





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this story! (Updated every Thursday until completed)

Fury boiled beneath Yajima’s skin. Its flame bristled the hairs of his body and bubbled the blood rushing towards his hands. His fingers smashed the keys of his keyboard, smothering their coal-black faces until the ink rubbed off. Yesterday, the stony-faced imp, Mita, had demanded he write another apology letter. One page. Single-spaced. Each line obliged to cry for his superior’s forgiveness, as if he had committed a heinous crime. If it was up to Yajima, _he_ should be the one receiving an apology. After all, Mita had hurt him. Physically and emotionally.

As his caramel-brown eyes stared at his screen, contemplating on the final bootlicking sentence he should write, Koyama and The Blonde, Yajima’s workplace inferiors, approached his cubicle. Iced coffee balanced itself on Koyama’s porcelain-white serving dish, its thirst-quenching contents sloshing inside the paper confines with each step she took. Koyama placed the beverage on her superior’s desk before tapping his shoulder. Yajima yelped, thinking Chief Mita had come to make his daily rounds of scolding his employees. Once his eyes found his inferiors, a different kind of fear poured into his core.

Like a lion protecting its cub, Yajima lunged towards the drawer that used to store his stash of snacks. “Don’t touch her! I swear I don’t have anymore snacks!”

Koyama cowered behind her serving dish, squeaking out a mousey _eep!_ , while The Blonde flinched back and looked at his superior as if he was a mountain of unfinished paperwork.

“We didn’t come here for that,” said The Blonde.

Koyama—still a bit flustered by Yajima’s outburst—shook her head. “We wanted to ask you how your evening with Chief Mita went.”

Hearing the Chief’s name left a sour taste in Yajima’s mouth. Coupling that with memories of yesterday’s events made it brackish and bittersweet. He sipped the iced coffee to wash out the taste.

“Everyone in the design department is itching to know,” added The Blonde. “Even the business department!”

A mischievous grin tugged the corners of Yajima’s mouth. If their curiosity ate them as much as the thought of Mita disdained him, then they’d have to pry the information out of him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Yajima twirled in his seat, with his head held high and arms crossed smugly, until the chair’s leather spine looked right at his inferiors.

“Please, Leader Yajima!” begged Koyama.

“We’re sorry for raiding your stash!” added The Blonde. “We wouldn’t have done it if Chief Mita hadn’t ordered us!”

Yajima stifled a laugh. “My, my, my, aren’t you two eager to know.”

“PLEASE!” the pair wailed in unison.

Yajima couldn’t maintain his façade any longer. It burst at its seams. Yajima swirled back around, clutching his gut and pressing a hand against his forehead.

“I’m just messing with you guys,” he laughed, wiping away a tear. “It was…alright.”

That was both an understatement and an overstatement. An _under-over-statement_. It was a five-course meal of tension, shock, titillation, intimacy, and disappointment. It was a dessert he didn’t know he wanted, and, although he left with an awful stomachache, he nearly melted into a pool of bliss with every sugar-infused bite he took.

“But I’m sure it wasn’t as exciting as the party you guys went to,” he added.

Koyama swept the room with two quick swings. To her relief, the tyrant with the evil eye was nowhere to be found. She crouched closer to Yajima and shielded her mouth from any snooping eyes.

“Did Chief Mita eat anything?”

The question Yajima had been waiting for. Craving for. Just one word, and Yajima could ruin the reputation of the man that had hurt him. As he began to open his mouth, a shadow casted over the trio. Mita’s brooding form loomed above them, as if the incoming reveal had summoned him like a spirit. His steel-blue eyes leered at them, with fire blazing inside his irises. Fear blanched Koyama and The Blonde’s faces. Their legs scurried to their cubicles, leaving behind a trail of smoke and foot-shaped skid marks on the linoleum floor.

Mita side-eyed them, his suspicion tripling in size, before locking his attention on Yajima. Yajima hid his malice with a radiant smile.

“Yes, Chief?” he asked.

Mita grimaced at the innocence in Yajima’s voice. It seemed fake, like an artificial sweetener.

“I need you in my office,” he demanded. “Now.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yajima has been summoned to Chief Mita’s office. What will happen? Read to find out!

“Whatcha need me for, Chief?”

The door closed behind the pair, sealing Yajima with the man the devil worshiped. Mita’s office had always been the coldest room in the building. Goosebumps rose from Yajima’s arms as if the walnut-brown hairs wanted to flee the chilling chamber. Yajima shivered and pulled down his sleeves.

Vertical blinds overlapped the floor-to-ceiling window behind the Chief’s desk. None of the morning light could squeeze through their tight crevices, but a pale fluorescent bulb did illuminate the room above. Mita seated himself onto his executive chair, its expensive leather cushion matching the grease-black of his hair. Everything in his demeanor loathed how much Yajima aggravated him. He was like a toothache: irritating and a pain to deal with. Adding Yajima’s knowledge of his secret into the mix only made it worse.

“The apology letter,” he said.

The cheek cramping smile stayed glued to Yajima’s face—although, the edges were beginning to peel.

“About that,” Yajima started, “I have it done—”

Mita raised a brow.

“—but it’s still on my computer.”

The Chief knitted his brows. A tendril of hair dangled over his temple, swaying as if to disapprove Yajima’s poor behavior.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and restrained the shout that pounded the back of his throat. “Even without your snacks, you’re still a slow worker. Fine, email it to me.”

“Absolutely, Chief!” Yajima said, pantomiming a sailor salute. Yajima hoped Mita would gloss over the section that promised to stop submitting his assignments minutes before their deadlines.

“Also”—Mita fished through the neatly organized paper holder perched at the edge of his desk—“you have a new assignment.”

Mita handed Yajima a thick wad of paper. “I need ten more designs completed by the end of the day.”

“The end of the day?” Yajima shouted. “That’s barely enough time!”

“You were able to complete the redesigns just fine the previous day.”

Yajima tightened his grip on the papers, leaving faint bend marks on their surfaces. The seams of his smile were beginning to come undone. “What’s the theme?”

“That hasn’t been disclosed, so it’s safe to assume that you may use your own creative judgment.”

They stood there in silence.

“Is there any other reason you called me here?” Yajima asked, his voice taut.

He was sure yesterday’s events raced through his superior’s mind like the insults he spewed at his employees. After all, Mita had exposed a part of himself nobody else knew, and if he couldn’t get Yajima to zip his big mouth shut, the sense of fear that hung over the departments like smog would dissipate and be replaced with rays of ridicule and laughter.

“No.”

Yajima’s mask cracked into pieces, revealing the vexation that fumed underneath.

“So, you’re just going to act like yesterday never ha—”

“Yes. And, as a—debatably—mature adult, you should do the same.”

The rage that boiled within Yajima popped and sputtered. The room didn’t feel that cold anymore. He pulled up his sleeves.

“Are you forgetting that you physically assaulted me and left me alone in the bathroom?”

“It was self-defense,” the Chief retorted. “You were the one harassing me.”

“How?”

“Your were eating.”

“You enjoyed it, you pervert!”

“According to whom?”

“Your dick!”

Yajima’s heart ached. The Chief’s ambivalence towards yesterday’s events pierced him like a knife. Usually, he could crumple his anger towards the Chief into a ball and shove it down his throat, or let it slip out his mouth as a light-hearted jab. But this time was different.

Mita shut his eyes. A vein pulsed on his pale forehead. The longer Yajima stayed in his office, the more infuriating he became. Mita wanted to forget about last evening’s incident, shred it into pieces and dispose it like a report that didn’t meet his rigorous demands. He despised how vulnerable he had been. A superior had been under the mercy of his inferior from just a meager plate of meat. That made as much sense as a wolf cowering before a lamb.

To make matters stranger, he actually—kind of—liked it. For once in his life, he could let go and have someone else take control. Yajima’s mastication had been the master, Mita’s cock the slave.

Mita glanced at the clock above his door. “The longer you stand there quarreling with me about an incident that had _never_ occurred, the less time you’ll have to complete your assignment.”

There was an abundance of profanities swarming up Yajima’s throat, each jumping up and down with their hands raised high as they waited to be chosen and launched towards the Chief. The f-bomb was the lucky winner. Yajima readied his artillery and fired.

“Fine!”

Yajima planted his heel onto the ground and swiveled towards the door. His feet were like bricks as he stomped his way out the office. The door handle chocked in pain as his hand crushed its metal neck and yanked it towards him. Light from the office poured into the room, and, for a brief moment, Mita could discern the rage that ravaged his inferior’s face. Yajima slammed the door shut, leaving the heartless prick alone with his callous thoughts.

The stack of papers crinkled under his hand as he marched towards his cubicle. The white-hot animosity engulfing his face trembled the cores of unlucky onlookers. They whispered amongst each other, terrifying themselves with their own surmises: the Chief had finally had enough of Leader Yajima’s rebellious behavior, and they would be the next ones to have their heads chewed off.

Yajima slumped onto his seat. He pulled up his email and sent the stupid letter to the stupid Chief without including a subject header. He grumbled to himself as he slapped the wrinkled papers onto his desk. Despite the gargantuan number of pages—and obscene amount of words—there was nothing that could guide his design-making process. Chief Mita was right—which he both hated and loved. He _would_ have to use his own creative judgement.

Yajima slid his drawing tablet in front of him. Scratches from pressing the pen too hard and smudges from constantly touching it littered the giant screen. The pen wasn’t any better: constant tectonic-plate-level pressure dulled its nib, and a translucent film of dried up sweat lathered its handle.

Yajima pondered on what he should create. His eyes gazed up at the ceiling as if the idea was floating in the air. Apparently, it was. Mischief curved his mouth and moved his hands. If Mita was going to feign amnesia for yesterday evening, Yajima would be more than happy to jog his memory. Or, should he say, _arouse_ his memory.

His stylus skated across the glass rink. It spun and swirled, leaving behind a trail of digital ink. The nib leaped over the expanse and created new life on the other side of the desolate world. Abstract lines took shape. Sections of white turned into fields of vibrant colors. Shadows placed here. Highlights placed there. And mid-tones left everywhere. What was once a hazy idea inside his mind solidified into an elaborate masterpiece inside the digital world.

Yajima marveled at his work. A juicy beef patty glistened in the center. Deep gridiron lines seared its tender body, with bronze adorning its textured exterior. Warm juices squirted out its pores and drizzled down the chin of a ravenous mouth, which sunk its fangs deep into its meaty flesh. Yajima chuckled to himself.

Revenge was about to be served.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I appreciate you taking your time to read my lil’ ol’ fanfic.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get juicy.

Time melted like an ice cube in Hell. Before he could save his file for the millionth time, Yajima’s lunch break busted in as an unexpected stomach growl. Yajima’s eyes, dry and sore, ached from the monitor that flushed them with a stream of aqua-blue light. He released his stylus. His hand had stiffened into a curl after hours of death-gripping the plastic rod.

A triumphant sigh left his mouth. For the first time, Yajima could dub himself a diligent worker. Half a days work had been completed, and, at this rate, he could finish before the clock announced the end of the workday. That is, if the Chief didn’t want to become a magician and pull another assignment out of his long, iron-pressed sleeves. Out of paranoia, Yajima scouted his surroundings. The Chief was absent. So was the entire office.

Chairs creaked along their axes, their comfy cushions breathing in dust. Computers slept, snoring though the vents on their sleek boxes, as their monitors dreamed of an inverted world encased in darkness. Paper balls rolled across the floor, pushed by the dainty hands of the air conditioner. The room seemed larger without his coworkers milling about the expanse of cubicles, drawers, and shelves. Chatter stretched itself thin down the hall, a reminder that Yajima wasn’t completely isolated from his peers. Yet, he still felt the dreadful ache of loneliness.

His hunger was really screwing with his mind.

Instinctively, Yajima reached for his drawer of snacks until Chief Mita’s voice boomed inside his skull. _Snacking during working hours is forbidden!_

Yajima growled. So did his stomach. He was going to die at work, and it was all because of his cruel boss’s absurd rules—at least, that’s what he convinced himself. As he moped to himself, an idea budded in his head. If he had to suffer, so should Mita. And he knew exactly where to find him. Yajima sprung off his seat and bounded down the hallway. The voices grew to an unintelligible murmur, but he skidded to a halt before they could reach their peak volume. After all, they weren’t his destination.

Before him was the forbidden men’s restroom. A large sign stood at attention, shouting, “Entry Prohibited,” as it guarded the powder-white door. But, like a threat with no bite, one could shrug their shoulders and slip right through. Yajima pushed the door open.

The bathroom walls sparkled like a fresh clean. Unused urinals sheened their bleached coatings, while opened stalls boasted thrones clean enough to eat on. The room smelled of ammonia and soap, and silence hung over it like the fluorescent panels submerged in the ceiling. To Yajima’s disappointment, the Chief was nowhere to be found. He kicked the ground, causing the rubber on his shoe to squeak against the floor. Since he was there, he thought, he might as well relieve himself.

A urinal guzzled down piss. A handle squeaked under a palm. Water and soap polished a pair of hands until the skin shone like the faucet spout. Yajima plucked tufts of paper towels out the white dispenser, which reflected a faint image of his downturned smirk. His stomach, angered from neglect, threw a tantrum. Yajima winced in pain. He really needed to find something to eat.

As he tossed the damp towels into a garbage bin, a silvery glint caught his eye. Foil. He pinched it between his fingers and examined the torn wrapper further. A cocoa-brown square with rounded edges floated in a sea of milk. A chunky “1” and letter laid on the brown island. Etched in cursive, with a shiny bronze finish, below the square was the word “Chocolate.” Yajima’s stomach grumbled hungrily. And furiously.

More aluminum sheets poked their limbs out the snowy heap of crumpled paper. Chip bags. Pretzel bags. Candy bags. Wrappers. Each one limp and lifeless. Yajima’s jaw clenched shut. Fury boiled in his gut, the steam shooting up his body and out his ears. These snacks had been _his_.

The door pushed open. Yajima swung his body, his loose seaweed-green tie whipping the air and slapping his cheek. A vein bulged on the side of his forehead. Mita stood in front of him, his countenance hard and stoic. One hand clutched an ink-black bento, while the other choked a candy bar. _Yajima’s_ candy bar. A moment passed before realization barged onto Mita’s face.

“Why are you here, again?” he hissed. “Can you not read the sign?”

“Who eats in the bathroom?” Yajima shot back. He pointed an accusatory finger at the sweet treat that used to lay in his drawer. “And why are you eating my snacks?”

“Once an item is confiscated, it becomes company property. If you had obeyed the rules, this would have still been yours.”

“That’s stealing!”

“Do not raise your voice at your superior.”

Yajima’s eyes shot daggers at the Chief. His fingers twitched, debating if they should curl into fists and sock the stony-faced demon’s snarky face or abstain and keep his job.

“If you breath any harder,” said Mita, “there won’t be any oxygen remaining for those of us who actually need it.”

“Go to H—”

“Excuse me, is somebody in there?”

Yajima and Mita froze with their eyes shaped as big O’s. Their heads rubbernecked towards the door, where the meek voice had slipped through its cracks and frightened their cores. They kept their mouths shut and prayed the door would stay closed, especially Mita, who was too worried to concern himself with the bento that now sat loosely in his hand. Yajima’s hand pounced, snatching the box from the evil man’s clutches. Yajima popped open the lid. Gluttonous paradise swelled into his nose.

A thick salmon fillet reposed on a fluffy bed of rice seasoned with pepper. Bronze varnished its scales, and shreds of cilantro decorated its body like emeralds. A colony of shrimp tempura swam beside the white island, arching their golden bodies like grins. An assortment of yellows, greens, and oranges crowded behind a divider. Some were sliced into circles, while the rest were chopped into bite-sized squares. Everything begged to be devoured and swallowed, and Yajima was more than happy to offer his services.

Noticing the hollow inside his hand, Mita turned around. His face burned salmon-pink as Yajima sunk his teeth into the fillet. Lemon-flavored juices ejaculated from the meat as its body tore in half, forming a mountain range of serrated scales. Mita pressed his palm against his mouth as a moan squirmed up his throat. Noise wasn’t permitted as long as the shadow behind the door was present. Mita thrusted his free hand towards the bento, but Yajima whisked the box away, pulling it closer to him and cradling it like an infant.

The Chief’s steel eyes ordered Yajima to “put that thing away.” Yajima licked the tempura’s flaky husk in response. Mita’s other hand piled itself onto his mouth. The moan banged against its barrier. So did the organ between his legs, which oozed clear fluids into his pants. He closed his legs, but his hardness had already caught the dubious eyes of the mischievous man. Now, Leader Yajima was in control.

Yajima gaped his mouth open. White bits of salmon had lodged themselves between the cracks of his teeth. Saliva secreted from the walls of the pink and purple cavern, lubricating his mouth for a sensuous sucking. His lips wrapped around the tempura’s crust, its thin, fire-orange tail sticking out like a pipe. He suckled the shrimp, pushing and pulling the phallic object, while soaking its skin with his spit. Mita’s cock imagined itself in the delicacy’s place: Yajima’s plump lips hugging its long, hard body; its head nuzzling against the soft walls of his mouth; drool showering its body like a warm bath. It pounced forward in envy.

Mita’s knees buckled, and he fell to the ground.

“Are you okay?” shouted the voice.

The Chief shot Yajima a death glare that barked, “Don’t you _dare_ say anything!”

Yajima stifled a laugh, quelling it to a low snicker. Flakes of food seasoned the floor, causing a grunt to slip through the holes of Mita’s barrier. The shadow scurried away.

“Put that down,” Mita ordered.

“Huh?” Yajima asked, leaning his ear towards the helpless man. “Sorry, your voice is a little muffled, just like the little man downstairs.”

Mita’s hand rushed towards the mound that stung with pressure and covered it. Dampness tickled his palm. He shuddered.

“This is highly unprofessional,” he said a tad louder.

“I’m just eating. What? Is breathing unprofessional too? Are you going to forbid your employees from doing that next?”

Mita tried to get up, but fell on his butt when Yajima crunched on a carrot slice. Bits of orange stuck to his teeth.

“Come to my place,” said Yajima.

“The workday hasn’t ended.”

“After work, _obviously_.”

“No.”

“C’mon. It’ll be fun.”

“Not a chance.”

“Please?”

“Shut up.”

“Pretty please?”

“ _Shut_ up.”

“Pretty please with a cherry on—”

“I said, _shut up!_ ”

The shout hissed in the room like grease on a skillet. It sputtered the stall doors. It popped onto the walls and ran down like yolk. It spirted into Yajima’s mouth as a burnt bit. He spat it out.

Two pairs of shoes populated the hall: one set concerned, the other confused. Their daunting footsteps crescendoed, their prospective destination the bathroom door.

“Come to my place,” Yajima repeated, the edge in his voice as sharp as a knife.

Mita’s black waves crashed against his forehead as he shook his head no.

“Fine.” Yajima kicked the candy bar that used to be his—which had been resting on the floor—towards the Chief. It slid on its back and tapped Mita’s leg. Ecstasy as sweet as its sugars tingled up his leg and fattened his pig. Yajima munched on a sticky ball of rice. The—not so—innocent gesture pinned Mita to the ground and further fluffed his groin.

The shadows treaded closer, reputation-destroying closer. Fear throbbed inside Mita’s head like a migraine, like the geyser that rumbled beneath his pants. Mita knew if he tried to get back up, Yajima would shove another delicacy into his maw. He was pathetically and utterly helpless. A war raged in his mind. If he succumbed to Yajima’s wishes, he’d be walking blindfolded in a cellar of sharp knives. But, if his inferiors caught him in the action…

Mita waved a white flag. “I concede.”

The door opened.

“I don’t see anyone,” said a male’s voice.

“Are you sure?” asked a female’s voice. “I could have sworn somebody was here a minute ago!”

“Well, it does smell like someone ate in here, which is _odd_.”

“That’s strange. Who eats in the bathroom?”

“That’s not the issue. The sign clearly states no one’s allowed to be here. We’ll have to report this violation to the Chief.”

The door closed. Footsteps melted into silence. A stall vomited a bitter pile of Yajima onto the floor.

“Rude!” Yajima shouted as he shot up to his feet.

“That’s quite ironic, coming from your mouth.” Mita sat on a toilet seat. He had managed to retrieve the bento terrorized by Yajima’s talons, teeth, and tongue. Although, there wasn’t much left unscathed. Yajima-sized teeth marks ringed a chunk of salmon. The mutilated meat bled a pool of juice in which rice grains and hunks of vegetables feebly floated on their faces. Tempura, segregated by a dam, avoided the deluge, but they laid headless with their fins pointed up like tombstones.

“Don’t forget, you still have to come to my place.”

A gag assaulted Mita’s throat. “Of course. However, those designs must be completed first.”

Yajima nodded. Mita didn’t like the grin on his inferior’s face. Nor did he like the fact that the man stood in front of him as if it was normal to watch someone sit on the toilet.

“Could you leave now?” he asked.

“Sorry about that but—”

Leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, Yajima flicked his head towards the door. Shadows, unaware of the restroom dwellers, flickered past the crack of the door, and chatter, kept at a modest-level, seeped through the walls. The Chief let out a defeated sigh. Misfortune was working at full force.

“Don’t worry,” Yajima said, drifting his gaze from the bento to the Chief’s eyes, “I won’t laugh.”

Mita growled and slammed the stall door, its lock clicking in place. Yajima faced the wall. The Chief hadn’t done anything, and yet he was already fighting back a snicker.

A mouth masticated. A member masturbated. Moans muddied the atmosphere. A tear leaked down a cheek, teeming with laughter that beseeched to be released.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for reading! Tell me what you think in the comments!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Chief Mita is at Yajima’s household, what mischievous scheme will Yajima enact?

Above, a clock struck the hour. _Ten o’clock_ , it bellowed. Mita and Yajima sat on opposite ends of a glass table—at Mita’s adamant request. Black rimmed the table’s perimeter, and fingerprints tinged the glass. Mita watched his reflection, the only thing could alleviate his agitation.

“Why are you so tense?” asked Yajima, who had his elbows pressed against the table and fingers weaved through their gaps. A friendly smile garnished his face, but Mita perceived it as the toothy grin of a shark moments before maroon consumed one’s vision.

“Loosen up a bit,” he continued. “I don’t bite.”

The Chief lowered his eyebrows. “What scheme are you plotting?”

Yajima raised his hands as if surrendering. “What are you talking about? I just want to spend an evening with my boss. Is it wrong for an employee to familiarize themselves with their boss outside work hours?”

“Completely.”

Behind Yajima, the city skyline projected itself to Mita through a sliding glass door. A haze of blues, yellows, and greens covered the dark steel and asphalt expanse like a veil. Stars scratched the night, and the moon loomed above, giving the earth a cavity-infested grin. The view resembled a scene in a horror movie. Mita longed for the director’s _“Cut!”_

A knock banged against the door.

“I’ll get it,” Yajima said as he lifted himself up. “By the way, that’s the only exit, unless if you’re willing to take a 15-story drop out on the balcony.”

Yajima winked and sauntered towards the door, leaving behind a pale-faced Mita.

The door creaked open. Hands exchanged currency for goods. To Mita, it was like a deal with Satan. Yajima kicked the door shut. His hands lifted a large bag that crinkled under his fingers. Mita’s eyes, wide and fearful, followed the bag as if a tether connected them. Anything could be hidden inside its paper walls. As the distance between them waned, an aroma snuck up Mita’s nose. Food. Mita sprung off his seat, his feet pointed in the direction of the door.

Yajima obstructed his path, his expression grim and sinister. “Leave, and I’ll tell the entire company about your secret.”

Fear latched its slimy tentacles around Mita and pulled him back to his seat, pinioning his ankles to the hardwood floor and strapping his wrists onto his thighs. Mita kept his gaze glued to his lap. A lump was leavening. Once Yajima reached his side of the table, he placed the bag at the table’s epicenter. One by one, he slid out its contents: two perspiring boxes of yakisoba, two steaming bowls of miso soup, and one foggy container of assorted sushi. He tossed a packet of disposable chopsticks towards Mita. He jumped as it thudded against his lap.

“Even a mouse isn’t as skittish as you,” teased Yajima. “Lighten up. We’re just _eating_.”

The last word dripped out his mouth like venom. Mita shriveled in his seat.

Yajima slid one of each container to Mita’s side, leaving the sushi in the center. He popped open his own containers. Their scents twirled in the air and braided into a mouth-watering fragrance. The aroma coiled around Mita and crushed his body like a cobra. Its fangs sunk into his crotch, and it swelled. A moan slipped past the slit between his lips.

The corner of Yajima’s mouth pulled up. “You haven’t touched your food, and yet you’re already enjoying it. No wonder this restaurant is known to have the best food in Japan.”

He locked his sights on the cluster of grilled noodles. Meaty slabs of pork rolled down the sides of the golden mountain like boulders. Thin slices of cabbage and onion trapped themselves within the savory entanglement, while sticks of carrots poked their thin bodies through any hole they could find. Worcestershire sauce drizzled down the giant mass, and flakes of aonari piled themselves onto its peak like snow. Strips of benishoga assembled at the top, their fire-red bodies chanting in unison, “ _Stop ogling and eat us!_ ”

Yajima pierced his chopsticks into the delectable stack. His pink lips pursed and slurped the spiced-up strings. Mita squirmed at the sucking sound, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his hands harder against his cock. A cold bead of sweat slid down the side of his face like the sauce dripping down Yajima’s chin.

Yajima let out a satisfied sigh. “ _De_ -licious! You should try yours before it gets cold.”

He lunged his chopsticks towards a slice of pork, whose lush rump stuck out the golden mound. It squealed as he sunk his fangs into its fat, plump body. His molars ground the meat until it was nothing but mush. The sound was like Sirens crooning to Mita’s ears: alluring, yet malignant.

“P-Please stop,” he said.

“I can’t hear you when your head is down like that,” Yajima lied. He wanted to give the perverted Chief a front row seat of the sensuous show.

The Chief craned his neck up. His eyelids deliberated amongst each other, weighing the pros and cons of opening. The cons were heavier.

“Please stop.”

“Oh, where are my manners?” Yajima placed his chopsticks onto a napkin, their wooden tips producing a damp puddle of spit. Mita cracked open his eyes. An empty chair sneered back. Apprehension shook Mita’s body, quaking it once he sensed the figure towering beside him. Yajima crouched down until his eyes met the Chief’s. A Cheshire cat grin contorted his countenance.

“It was rude of me to eat without my guest.”

Hands reached for the unopened box of yakisoba that eagerly waited to be emptied. They pried its jaw open, letting its hot breath cloud the air. Mita inhaled the scent. It spread inside his body like black mold, infesting his lungs, poisoning his stomach, and contaminating his heart. Despite his agony, his hardness relished it all.

Yajima snatched the chopsticks that laid on the Chief’s lap, purposefully grazing his palm against his groin, and grabbed a bundle of noodles. They dangled before Mita’s eyes, tempting him to consume their slick bodies, to masticate and grind them into a pulp, to swallow them down and give them a new home inside his gut. But, most of all, to satisfy the swell inside his pants and give in to his perverted desire.

Yajima drew the tempter closer until its succulent figure usurped Mita’s sight. The Chief couldn’t eat it, not in front of Yajima. Yajima was playing a sick game and he’d lose if he submitted to his rules. Yet, his mouth wavered. It wanted the meal to soak in his saliva, to ferment on his tongue and give him a high. It wanted the meal’s tangy flavor to dance atop his tastebuds as the crowns of his teeth beat its body into batter. His breathing quickened. His heartbeat hastened. Beads of sweat barreled down his face in droves. Was it hot in there, or was it the flame burning inside his skull?

“ _Eat it,_ ” Yajima purred into Mita’s ear.

A tear dripped down. Then another. And another. Yajima pulled back, concern rounding his eyes. More and more droplets rolled down the Chief’s cheeks, each one briny and blue. Mita shot up to his feet. His chair fell over and struck the hard floor. He bolted out the room with one disheveled sleeve covering his eyes. Yajima could only stare. Shocked.

A door slammed behind Mita. Fingers fiddled with the lock until it clicked. Mita rammed into the sink and spun onto the toilet seat. He curled his fingers on top of his thigh, gripping onto the fabric of his pants. Tears dove from his eyes and pounded against his lap. They stung.

Mita despised Yajima for what he tried to make him do. He hated his big head. He hated his big mouth. He hated his big appetite. Yajima used his secret against him. He dangled it in front of his face like a key that would free him from a lion’s den. He made him weak, helpless, and afraid.

But Mita abhorred his own sick fetish even more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe Yajima hurt the Chief like that. Thanks for reading! Please tell me your thoughts down in the comments! I’d love to read them ❤︎


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What will Yajima do after breaking Chief Mita’s stone-heart?

Guilt. That’s what Yajima felt. It ran down his throat like lukewarm milk and curdled in his gut. It clogged his capillaries and larded his heart. The Chief’s icy exterior had melted into tears just because Yajima wouldn’t let up. Yajima’s eyes traced the fallen chair. Dents disfigured the edges of its spine, and a crater marred the hardwood floor. He had taken things too far.

Yajima stood up and placed his palms against the table, applying most of his weight on it. A deep sigh left his mouth. So did his animosity. He needed to apologize.

He padded through the hall, following the invisible trail of tears the Chief had left behind. A custard-yellow light outlined a door. Yajima approached it with quiet footsteps. He laid his ear on the door’s chest like a stethoscope, listening in on the heartbeat of the room, the slow inhales and exhales of Mita’s breaths.

He rapped the wood. “Chief?”

Silence.

Yajima leaned his forehead against the door and let out a sigh. He didn’t know what was worse, the ache in his stomach or the Chief’s unwillingness to speak to him. But he couldn’t let that discourage him. He had a duty he needed to fulfill.

He took a deep breath. “I’m…sorry. Extremely sorry.”

Something rustled within the room. Yajima prayed it was a good sign.

“What I did today was awful. It was sick and didn’t take your feelings into consideration. My actions had pressured you into doing something you were completely uncomfortable with. I was blinded by my frustration, and that caused me to hurt you.”

More silence, but Yajima could feel the Chief’s eyes staring at the door.

“I’m also sorry for trying to blackmail you. Even though I was completely aware of the importance of keeping your secret hidden, I continued to use it against you in order to get my way. That was extremely insensitive of me. If I was in the same situation, I would’ve been miserable. I don’t know why that hadn’t dawned on me for you.”

Pride tickled the back of Yajima’s throat. He swallowed the bitter thing down. “I also apologize for my rebellious behavior in the workplace. I’m sure it’s made your job more difficult, and I’m ashamed of that. You’re the boss, and, as your employee, it’s my duty to follow your rules, no matter how...peculiar they may be.”

Yajima took a step back and sat on his knees. With his arms laid into a diamond, he swung his back until his head hovered just a few centimeters above his hands.

“Please forgive me!” he said.

His voice echoed throughout the apartment, freezing everything it touched. Yajima stayed in his bow, too afraid that moving might shatter the entire world. The clock boomed across the hall. The air conditioner throbbed the room. The sounds of the city leaked through the walls and flooded the floors. Yajima quivered in the deafening silence as apprehension wrapped itself around him like a soggy blanket.

“Yajima...” said the Chief.

Yajima whipped his head up. He trembled as he awaited his verdict.

“You…” Mita continued.

A furious fist slammed against granite. “You should feel ashamed of yourself! What you did was appalling and entirely inappropriate! I should have you fired for your egregious behavior!”

Yajima winced. The words came like knives, slashing his skin and lacerating his heart.

“I understand,” he murmured.

Yajima rose to his feet, his head sagging down like a wilted flower.

“However…”

Yajima froze in place. A spark of hope flickered in his chest.

Mita cleared his throat. “I will accept your apology.”

Yajima’s eyes gaped open. His jaw dropped open. The spark inside his chest blazed to life.

“Let me reiterate,” the Chief continued, “your behavior was _undeniably_ atrocious. However, I could tell your apology was genuine. Compared to your apology letters, this one came from the heart, and I appreciate that.”

Yajima’s heart pounded against his chest. He didn’t know what to do. He hadn’t planned for this outcome. He became dizzy with glee. His legs wobbled like jello. He collapsed to his knees.

“Thank you, Chief!” Yajima’s hair flopped against his forehead as he bowed and bowed and bowed. His body trembled with bliss, and he couldn’t help but boast a big, boisterous smile on his face. He felt like he could combust at any moment. But guilt came back to blow out the flame.

He heaved himself up with his head slumped down. “You can go now. I promise I’ll keep the past two days between the two of us.”

His body felt like a sack of cinderblocks as he turned away from the door. Before he could raise his foot, the doorknob jiggled. A stream of light poured out as the door creaked open. Yajima craned his neck. Mita stood between the door frame. His eyes were red and glossy. His clothes were disheveled and wrinkled. And his hair was a tangled mess like the noodles cooling in the dining room. Yet, his muscles tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you for the offer,” he said. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. “However, it would be a shame to put all of that food to waste.”

The nub in his pants twitched. So did Yajima’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re at the homestretch! Just one more chapter and this entire story will be completed! Thank you for following this story. If you have any thoughts, praises, or concerns, please do type them in the comments!


	6. Chapter 6

Satisfied sighs soothed smooth skin. Mita laid on a mocha-brown sofa, one arm unfurled across the plush, and the other caressing the small of Yajima’s back. His chest rose and fell like waves, giving Yajima a gentle ride on the vest glazed with cream.

Behind the pair, styrofoam boxes laid ravaged on a glass coffee table. Their bodies laid looted and lacerated with their insides completely pillaged. Remnants of their delicious entrails clung to their white interiors, which were stained by dark sauces and pale discharges. Crumpled napkins sprawled the sight like broken tombstones, carrying the memories of what had been devoured. Chopsticks sobbed globs of saliva at the edge of the table, scarred by the countless bodies they’ve slaughtered and contemplating suicide.

Yajima planted his lips onto Mita’s. The succulent flavor of sushi blended with the tangy taste of yakisoba. Their tongues lapped it off the other’s. Mita rolled his eyes back until only the whites showed. An orgasm escaped his lips, galvanizing Yajima’s limpness to prepare for another round.

Yajima drew his head back. A string of saliva tethered between their mouths as if urging them to come back together. It snapped. Yajima circled the tip of his finger around Mita’s cheek.

“You know,” he breathed, “we should do this more often.”

Just like yesterday, Yajima had felt a spark of delight. No. A white-hot flame of ecstasy that ravaged every fiber in his bones. He loved seeing Mita’s vulnerable side whenever his pearly whites sunk themselves into a meal. He adored the Chief’s body quivering and quaking as if he was the pieces of food tossing and turning atop his tongue. And he absolutely relished in how Mita pleaded for him to keep on masticating and quench their naughty cravings: gluttony and lust. It made Yajima’s skin purr with pleasure. He wanted more of those experiences, and he was certain the feelings were mutual.

“Not a chance.” Mita pushed Yajima off him and rose to his feet. Yajima’s rear smacked against the carpet, the impact causing the chopsticks to plummet to their deaths. Yajima whipped his head up, bemusement roasting his face.

“What?” he shouted. “Weren’t you enjoying it?”

Mita took off his vest and turned it inside out. “Having this type of relationship with your superior is a conflict of interest waiting to happen.”

The Chief stepped over Yajima’s legs and tossed the vest over his shoulder. “By the way, I have yet to see the designs I assigned to you”—he glanced at the clock—“ _yesterday._ ”

Embarrassment heated Yajima’s face. He bit his lip. “About that...”

Mita raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

Yajima scratched the back of his head. “Well, when I was making it, I was trying to get back at you. So...”

Mita leaned closer, irritation brimming underneath.

“All of the designs are related to eating...but that was before my apology! I’m a changed person now! I swear!”

Mita’s countenance darkened into a scowl. Vexation bled out his pores and hooked its frigid fingers around Yajima’s neck. Yajima gasped for forgiveness.

“I expect revisions by the beginning of the workday,” the Chief commanded.

“W-What? I can’t do that! It’s already midnight, and work starts in a few hours!”

Mita sauntered towards the door, adjusting his wine-purple tie until it sat snugly inside the gap of his collar. He cupped his hand around the doorknob.

“It is in your best interest to head over to the office, then.” He opened the door and slammed it shut.

Yajima rattled. Shook. Then boiled over into unrelenting rage. His jaw clenched until his teeth cracked. Multiple veins bulged up his neck. His fingers curled into fists, digging his nails into his palms. His eyes saw red. Blood. All of it on Mita’s vile, snarky face.

“You…” he growled.

**_”YOU SHITTY CHIEF!!”_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for making it to the end! Please tell me what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> What are your thoughts so far? Please tell me down in the comments! ❤︎


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